


Counting the Ways to Where You Are

by umbralillium



Series: Raising Stiles [1]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/pseuds/umbralillium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles borrows his dad's car in an emergency. His reaction is not what Stiles expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the Ways to Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my tumblr peeps for putting up with my plottings via reblogging the same gifset over and over again. xD Thanks and snogs to Nic for betaing this for me.

The Jeep's in the shop, again, Dad's at work, and Stiles doesn't have time to worry about how incredibly grounded he's going to be for doing this. He grabs Dad's car keys off the hook by the kitchen door and hurries out into the garage, punching the button to raise the garage door, trailing one hand along the sleek black paint of the hood as he jogs around to the driver's side door. His hands tremble when he unlocks the door. He's never driven his dad's car, he'd known from an early age just what Dad would do to his ass if he ever tried to drive her, but needs must and a sore ass is the least of his worries, right now.

 

His heart trips in his chest when he turns the key in the ignition and the old car rumbles to life, the grumbling purr of her engine filling the garage. "Dad is so going to kill me," Stiles mutters to himself as he backs out onto the street, barely taking the time to close the garage before taking off towards the old Hale house.

 

Stiles hadn't even stopped to think when he'd heard the howl echoing over the town. He wasn't even sure who had been howling, he only knew that it had made his heart trip and clench, that he'd been out of his chair, grabbing his werewolf-preparedness bag and racing downstairs before the howl had even finished.

 

He turns into the clearing outside the Hale house and the headlights illuminate a scene of chaos. There are two bodies on the ground and Stiles fights not to throw up at the bloody mess. One of them is still twitching feebly. He scrambles out of the car when he spots the glow of eyes in the dark, all turned in his direction. "Scott!" he calls, peering into the darkness.

 

"Here," Scott calls back from where he's slumped on the porch, one hand curled around his side.

 

Stiles darts across the leaf-strewn ground to Scott's side, carefully nudging his hand out of the way. "How long ago did this happen?" he asks when he sees the deep scratches curving around Scott's flank.

 

"Half an hour," Scott answers, wincing as Stiles prods the ruined skin. Scott suddenly clutches at Stiles's arm, staring over his shoulder. "Dude, you drove your dad's car?" he asks, incredulous.

 

"Yeah, you guys needed me and the Jeep's in the shop," Stiles answers, not looking up from Scott's side.

 

"Ow! You _drove_ your _dad's car_?" Scott says again.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and smacks Scott upside his head. "You guys are more important than getting grounded for driving her."

 

Scott stares at him for a long moment before grinning. "How was it?"

 

Stiles shivers and grins right back. " _Awesome._ " His excitement is cut short by a rough hand grabbing his shoulder.

 

"Whose car is that?" Derek growls, eyes flickering red.

 

"Wow, you weren't paying attention, like _at all,_ were you?" Stiles snarks, glaring at Derek.

 

" _Whose car?_ " Derek repeats.

 

"My dad's," Stiles answers, trying to shrug off Derek's hand.

 

"Open the trunk," Derek demands.

 

"Why? Do you need to stash the bodies in there?" Stiles asks, eyes darting to the still bodies on the ground then away again when his stomach lurched at the sight.

 

Derek pauses for a moment, considering, then shakes his head. "There's something off in there," he finally admits. "Just open it."

 

Stiles sighs and squeezes Scott's shoulder before walking over to the driver's door and pulling the keys out of the ignition. Walking to the trunk, he trails his fingers over the Impala emblem on the side. He unlocks the trunk, lifts the lid, and grabs the small flashlight lodged in one corner, flicking it on to show the empty trunk. "See? Nothing here," Stiles says, reaching up to close the lid.

 

Derek braces a hand against the lid, keeping it open as he leans in, nostrils flaring. "Wolfsbane," he murmurs. "Salt, oil, metal."

 

"Kangaroo, meatballs, pigment," Stiles answers. "See, I can do the random word game, too."

 

With a roll of his eyes, Derek leans in further and starts running his fingers along the bottom of the trunk. "There's something else in there, I can smell it." His fingers reach the space just below the lock and pause for a moment before he's lifting a panel, revealing a veritable arsenal hidden where the spare tire should go.

 

Stiles stares, stomach clenching in fear and betrayal, eyes darting from crosses to bottles of mountain ash and wolfsbane, bullets, knives, guns, a fucking _cross_. He backs away from the Impala slowly, breath seizing in his chest. His heel catches on something and he lands on the ground hard, still staring at his dad's car.

 

"Stiles?" he hears Scott call from far away through the anger and fear and worry and panic flooding through him. He blinks, finally tearing his eyes away to meet Scott's worried gaze. "Did you know that stuff was in there?"

 

"No," Stiles says softly. "It's just my dad's car."

 

Scott nods, reaching down to squeeze Stiles's ankle before tossing him the car keys. "The others are taking care of the bodies, could you take me to Deaton so he can stitch me up?"

 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles nods, climbs to his feet, and sees that the trunk of the Impala is closed again. It's back to being the car he climbed all over as a kid, the car that his dad and uncle practically lived in for most of their lives, that is his only connection to his grandfather. He shakes those thoughts away as he and Scott climb inside.

 

She purrs to life under his hands and he can't resist glancing over at Scott with a grin. There's an almost awestruck look in Scott's eyes. For all that Stiles has learned every nook and cranny of her over the years, Scott has never been inside her before, just looked in through the windows whenever they were in the garage.

 

They're about halfway to the animal hospital when Scott slumps over against Stiles. Stiles nudges him, smiling fondly. "Hey, jerkface, no sleeping on me when you're bleeding."

 

When Scott's usual response doesn't come, Stiles nudges him harder. "Scott?" No answer. "Scott!" Stiles presses the gas a little harder, the old black car roaring through the night.

 

*

 

Dean paces the porch, fighting back the panic in his chest. Sam's soft voice filtering through the cell phone held tight to Dean's ear, helping to keep his heart in his chest. Coming home to find his Baby and his son missing had sent him into a panic attack the likes of which he hadn't had since Bela stole her all those years ago. "Can't," he manages to gasp out.

 

"Can't what, Dean?" Sam asks.

 

"Can't lose him, Sammy," Dean admits, pausing to lean against the porch post, eyes clenched tight against the empty night. "He's all I have left of her. I'm gonna tell him."

 

"About hunters? About the rest of the things that go bump?" Sam clarifies.

 

"Yeah, I'm tired of hiding it from him when I could be _helping_."

 

"Want me there?"

 

"No, not right now. He'll probably come over in the morning, though," Dean says.

 

Sam laughs softly. "I'll make sure his sheets are clean." Dean can't hold back an answering laugh.

 

The familiar rumble echoes down the street and Dean lets out a relieved sigh. "Gotta go."

 

"Let me know how it goes," Sam requests quietly.

 

"Yeah," Dean answers before hanging up. He watches as his son pulls Baby into the driveway and sits there staring at Dean through the windshield. Even from the porch, Dean can see the exhaustion in his son's eyes as he climbs out of the car, and Dean aches to help with whatever was important enough for him to take Baby. Stiles walks slowly around the car, eyes falling away to stare at his shoes. Dean had held himself back after the lacrosse game, but he couldn't stop himself now if he tried. He's down the porch stairs before he even registers that he's moved and his son is in his arms and clutching at his shirt before he even thinks about hugging him.

 

"I'm sorry," he says, voice muffled by Dean's shirt.

 

"Shh, I got you, its okay," Dean murmurs, holding on tighter. "You're okay, Stiles."

 

"I'm so sorry, Dad," Stiles whispers. "I'm sorry I took her without asking."

 

"Its fine," Dean assures him. "She's a good car to have in emergencies."

 

Stiles pulls back and stares up at him. "How—"

 

"You wouldn't have driven her unless it was important," Dean answers. "And wolf howls aren't the most inconspicuous thing ever."

 

Stiles's laugh is slightly nervous. "Wolf howl? Where'd you hear—"

 

"Stiles," Dean cuts him off. "Come inside, we have a lot to talk about."

 

Stiles swallows and nods. "Yeah, I guess we do."

 

Dean keeps one arm wrapped around Stiles's shoulders as they walk inside, squeezing gently, reassuringly.

 

They end up sitting at the kitchen table, cups of hot cocoa between their hands. Stiles is almost unnaturally silent, staring down into his cocoa. "Everyone okay?" Dean ventures, ducking his head a little to try and catch Stiles's gaze. He looks up and Dean's heart clenches at the pain and worry in his eyes. Dean had never liked seeing those emotions in Stiles's mother's eyes and it hurts even more to see them in Stiles's eyes.

 

"Yeah, mostly," Stiles finally answers, breathing a little shaky.

 

"Mostly?" Dean questions.

 

"The pack's a little battered," he breathes in sharply. "Scott's unconscious at Deaton's."

 

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asks, wondering if he needs to call Melissa.

 

"I don't know. Deaton thinks so, but god, Dad." His eyes are wide and wet. "He wasn't healing. Derek says it's because the wounds were made by an alpha. He lost so much blood, he passed out in the car on the way to Deaton's."

 

Dean grips Stiles's wrist. "Why aren't you there with him?"

 

Stiles's laugh is hollow and mirthless. "Deaton got tired of me pacing around and asking questions. He said to either stay still or go home." He scrubs his free hand through his hair, making the dark strands stand on end. "You know me, couldn't stand still to save my life."

 

Dean starts to say something, but _Bad Moon Rising_ starts playing and Stiles fumbles his phone out of his pocket. "Derek?" he asks, frantic. Derek says something in reply and Stiles's shoulders slump and a relieved smile quirks his lips. "Thank God. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow. No, not tonight, there's some stuff I need to talk to my dad about. Yes, _that._ Relax, sourwolf, I doubt he's going to come after you tonight or anytime soon, for that matter." Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it incredulously before scoffing and tucking it back into his pocket. "Rude much?" he mutters.

 

"So, Scott's okay?" Dean asks, smiling slightly.

 

"Yeah," Stiles says on a sigh, a lot of the tension leaving his shoulders. It came right back when Stiles met Dean's eyes. "You're a hunter."

 

Dean winces. "You looked in the trunk?"

 

Stiles nods. "Derek smelled it. _Are_ you going to hurt them?"

 

"No," Dean says, shaking his head. "I don't believe in the Code that Argent abides by, but I don't kill anything that's not human without doing my research, first." He pauses then adds, "Well, Sammy usually does the research.

 

"The Hales were here long before I came to town and I'd never heard about anything weird happening here until after Derek came back." Dean sighs and stretches his legs out, wincing as his right knee catches before straightening. "I've done my best to keep other hunters away. Our name still carries some weight, despite Sammy and I laying low for the last twenty years."

 

"So Uncle Sam's a hunter, too?"

 

Dean nods. "It's kind of the family business. On both sides."

 

"My both sides or your both sides?" Stiles questions, leaning forward in his chair, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

 

"Both?" Dean answers, rubbing the back of his head. "Your mom wasn't a hunter, but she knew about ghosties and ghoulies and—"

 

"Long-leggedy beasties?" Stiles finishes, smiling a little.

 

Dean laughs and reaches out to ruffle Stiles's hair, laughing again when Stiles squawks and swats at his hand. "My dad cleared a ghost out of her family's bakery…" he pauses, thinking back. "God, must be almost 30 years ago, now. Man, I feel old."

 

Stiles snickers and bumps Dean's boot with his sneaker. "Still young enough to chase a robber down an alleyway," he says.

 

"Yeah," Dean murmurs, smiling as he remembers the look on that kid's face when he saw the sheriff chasing him down. He claps Stiles on the shoulder and pushes to his feet. "C'mon, kiddo, time for bed. I'll let you stay home from school tomorrow so you can go see Scott, but your Uncle Sam is expecting you to come over so he can bombard you with lore."

 

" _Awesome,_ " Stiles cheers, darting in for a hug before racing upstairs.

 

Dean chuckles softly as he watches him go. "We done good, Ari, we done good." He sighs softly, missing her so strongly just then that his breath catches. Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone and calls Sam, as promised.

 

*

 

The next morning, Sam was awake almost before dawn, pacing the house, wondering what Stiles really thinks about finding out he's from a family of hunters, wondering if Scott was really okay, wondering if Dean had been glossing things over.

 

All his worries are laid to rest when Stiles bounces into the house, grin wide, eager to learn whatever Sam could teach him. First order of business, though, was to give Stiles a good, strong Winchester hug. After a long moment, Sam pulls back and holds Stiles by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. "You're really okay?" he asks.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but nods. "Yeah, I'm okay."

 

"Good," Sam says, nodding. "How's Scott?"

 

"He'll live," Stiles answers, relief in his voice. "Deaton said he just lost a lot of blood from the scratches."

 

Sam nods, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. "Come on, first thing is werewolves."

 

"I dunno," Stiles replies, looking skeptical. "I think I've got that covered."

 

Sam shakes his head. "You can never know enough, kiddo. Thought I taught you that, already."

 

Stiles laughs and darts ahead into Sam's study, eager to learn, as always. Sam smiles and follows.

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This actually started months ago when a friend and I were talking about it on Tumblr. Then the post reappeared on my dash and I started thinking about it again. There will likely be more in this universe. I don't know how much more or when it will be written, but the ideas are percolating in my brain.


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